


a picture's worth a thousand words

by thishasbeencary



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Fluff, Getting Together, Humor, M/M, Post-Banquet, Victor Nikiforov is Extra
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-01
Updated: 2017-08-01
Packaged: 2018-12-09 12:16:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11668935
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thishasbeencary/pseuds/thishasbeencary
Summary: Yuuri woke up that morning with 3 things: a hangover that rivaled all his past hangovers put together, all of his blankets and pillows and, apparently, clothing strewn on the floor, and a picture of him and Viktor Nikiforov that made him look even more like a stalker as his phone background.





	a picture's worth a thousand words

**Author's Note:**

> i made [this post](https://yoyoplisetsky.tumblr.com/post/163636153067/otabek-deserved-better-yoyoplisetsky-why-did) on tumblr and then woke up and was like "actually no i want to write that au" so here i am
> 
> i wanted this oneshot to be 1000 words bc you know "a picture's worth a thousand words" but... it got longer. so now a picture's worth 4 thousand words.

Yuuri woke up that morning with 3 things: a hangover that rivaled all his past hangovers put together, all of his blankets and pillows and, apparently, clothing strewn on the floor, and a picture of him and Viktor Nikiforov that made him look even more like a stalker as his phone background.

Two of those things were much easier to take care of than the other. He started with the clothes, climbing off of his bed and picking up the pieces of his suit, sighing at how wrinkled they were. He threw them to his suitcase, searching for his tie, which he found sitting on the bathroom counter, along with his glasses, which he gratefully put on, before throwing his tie over to the suitcase as well.

He then remade the bed, at least partially, so that it wasn’t just a mattress and a sheet. He wasn’t usually _this_ restless a sleeper, but he supposed if he’d been drunk enough to be this hungover, then he probably had slept more restlessly because of it. He was just glad that there were no signs that anyone else had been in this room, at all. Completely devoid of the presence of someone Yuuri might have forgotten, thank _god._ He’d done this all on his own.

The picture, well, that could be _worse_. At least it didn’t look like he had tried to actually engage Viktor in conversation. It was taken by Yuuri’s table, angled so that over his shoulder, he could see Viktor Nikiforov grinning widely at whoever he was talking to. It almost looked like Viktor was grinning in his direction, so Yuuri could tell why he’d taken the picture. He himself had a slight flush to his cheeks, which wasn’t completely unexpected – he sort of figured that he’d gotten drunk, so it made sense. At least this seemed to be the worst that he’d done.

Taken a stalker picture of Viktor Nikiforov, set it on his phone background, and then gotten dragged away by Celestino before he did something worse seemed to have been the progression of the night, and Yuuri breathed out. He went into his phone, setting the background back to the picture of him and Vicchan it had been before (no wonder he’d drunkenly changed it), and deleting the picture of himself and Viktor.

And then a text popped up on his phone.

 **from Unknown Number:** this isn’t chris is it?

Yuuri stared at the text for a long time, sighing to himself. Nice, after that disaster of a night he couldn’t remember, somebody thought he was someone named Chris.

 **to Unknown Number:** no, sorry, you have the wrong number.

 **from Unknown Number:** oh, sorry!!! i woke up with a phone number written on my arm, and i thought i recognized the handwriting but i guess not and i guess it would be weird since i already have chris’s phone number so why would he write it on my arm but. sorry!!

 **from Unknown Number:** i mean, unless you left your number on my arm? there’s one person i met last night i wouldn’t mind calling… but i don’t think i was drunk enough to forget that…

 **to Unknown Number:** no, sorry, not me. must have made a mistaken, or given you a fake number.

 **from Unknown Number:** дерьмо. worth a try, i guess. sorry for the mistake, have a good day!

Yuuri set his phone aside again after that, groaning at the feeling of his hangover, which had gotten absolutely no better with all of his movement. Squinting at the clock (not wanting to look at his phone again), he sighed. He had just under an hour until Celestino would come to get him for the airport, so Yuuri dug through his suitcase for some painkillers, glad that he’d packed them, taking them quickly before climbing into the shower.

He stood in the shower for a long time, his arms wrapped around his chest. He felt the tears in his eyes again, and let himself cry, over his dog, over losing, over whatever the fuck he did last night to humiliate himself.

He finally stepped out of the shower, his headache just worse now from crying. He put on loose sweatpants and his Japan jacket. Yuuri laid in his bed, dwelling in misery, until Celestino came to pick him up. He heard the knock at his door and stood, feeling at least a little better, but nonetheless, he put his hood on and slid on his sunglasses. Celestino looked at him and raised his eyebrows. “Rough night?” He questioned, and Yuuri rolled his eyes.

“I’m just ready to go back home,” Yuuri sighed, and Celestino smiled, going to check out.

He slept the flight back to Detroit, thank god, because his head was killing him, and he _really_ didn’t think that he could take that long of a plane ride without dying with the hangover he had. He woke up when they were back, and sleepily tugged his suitcase off of the plane, glad that Celestino wasn’t talking to him.

When they got back to Yuuri’s apartment, he walked in quietly, setting his suitcase in his room, but just climbing into bed and going back to sleep, glad that Phichit was already asleep, and he didn’t have to deal with him yet. He loved his roommate, but he still felt horrific, and having that sort of interaction with what was left of his hangover sounded like the most unappealing thing that had ever happened to him.

In the morning, he unlocked his door and cracked it open so that Phichit would know he was welcome to come in, feeling much less dead than the day before, starting to unpack his suitcase, glad for the monotonous movement. He still wasn’t over what had happened at the competition, but getting back into a routine would help him.

“Yuuri!” Phichit shouted from the kitchen, and Yuuri smiled to himself, not stopping what he was doing. “Do you want breakfast? I’m making eggs, but you have to come into the kitchen to eat them because last time we got food in your bed you made us clean the _entire_ apartment and I don’t really want to do that and you just got back so –“

“I’ll be right out, Phichit,” Yuuri smiled as he cut off his roommate’s ramblings, setting the last of his clothes into the hamper or drawer, depending on whether they were clean before walking out of his room, his limited edition Viktor Nikiforov t-shirt hanging too big off of his shoulders, and his shorts hanging low on his hips.

“How do you want them? I was just going to scramble, since that’s easiest to make a bunch, and I bet you’re hungry, because Celestino told me you were hungover most of yesterday,” Phichit said with a wicked smirk. Sometimes, Yuuri regretted living with someone that shared his coach.

“So kind of Celestino to tell you.” Yuuri rolled his eyes. “Scrambled eggs are fine.” He sat at his spot at their bar, taking the bowl eagerly when Phichit handed it off, immediately digging into the eggs.

“When we’re done eating, you’re going to tell me all about it.” Phichit paused with a spoonful of eggs halfway in his mouth and Yuuri scrunched up his nose. Telling Phichit all about… “I don’t mean the competition, Yuuri. That happened, whatever, Celestino will make sure you rock Nationals and Worlds, because you’re still _sixth in the world_. I mean the rest of it!”

“I didn’t do much other than practice and worry before the competition, Phichit,” Yuuri sighed, finishing off his eggs. “And I left the banquet early, since I was drunk and Celestino probably got me the hell out of there. I need to finish unpacking.” Yuuri set his bowl into the sink, and Phichit shoved the last spoonfuls of his eggs into his mouth before following him.

“You got drunk? Then something had to have happened, Yuuri, we know how you are when you’re drunk – “ Phichit kept pushing and Yuuri groaned.

“I don’t think anything all that exciting happened while I was drunk, but it was an awful morning.” Yuuri gave in, opening his suitcase, watching Phichit lay down onto his bed.

“An awful morning?” Phichit prompted.

“I woke up with a dumb picture of me and Viktor Nikiforov set as my phone background, wearing just my boxers, with a hangover that felt like I’d gotten stabbed through my brain. It wasn’t a good night, Phichit,” Yuuri explained, unpacking his suit from his case, and sighing as he realized it was wrinkled from being all over the floor when he woke up. Whatever, it probably needed to be dry-cleaned, anyway.

“A picture of you and Viktor Nikiforov? Yuuri, you _met_ Viktor Nikiforov and that wasn’t the first thing that you told me!? Let me see the picture!” Phichit demanded, jumping off of Yuuri’s bed, leaving the poster of Viktor behind him fluttering where the tape had come off of the walls, from four years of picking at it. It was a favorite, a picture of Viktor with his long hair, in the black costume Yuuri had first seen him skate in, so he’d hung it behind his bed. He picked on the tape when he was unable to sleep.

“No, it was… It was dumb, Phichit. It was a picture of me, where Viktor Nikiforov happened to be smiling in the background. It’s not… It’s nothing special,” Yuuri sighed. “And I deleted it, anyway. I don’t need to look like a total stalker having that picture as my phone background.” Not that he’d never had pictures of Viktor as his phone background before, but that one was different. It wasn’t available to the public, it was just Yuuri being drunk and having no self control.

“You _deleted_ it!? Yuuri!” Phichit fell backwards again overdramatically, yelping as he nearly fell off of the bed, not quite judging the distance that he’d walked to go to Yuuri.

“Anyway, after I deleted that stupid picture, I got texts from a wrong number looking for somebody named Chris, and then hoping that I was their one night stand,” Yuuri sighed, flopping back onto his bed.

“ _Oh my god_ ,” Phichit cackled. “Yuuri, let me see your phone, let me read them!” Phichit reached out, and Yuuri laughed, walking back over to his bed, tossing his phone to Phichit, not bothering to unlock it. Phichit knew the code.

“It’s the unknown number. They’re Russian, or something, but they didn’t text since then, since it was a wrong number.” Yuuri shrugged, sitting down on his bed now that he was finished, pulling his legs up against his chest and leaning against the wall, picking against the nearly nonexistent tape on the poster again.

“It’s not a very exciting conversation.” Phichit frowned, and didn’t hand back his phone when Yuuri reached out his hand for it. Yuuri frowned.

“What are you doing, Phichit? I already sent you all the pictures I took – “

“Yuuri, holy shit.” Phichit was staring at his phone, his eyes wide in shock. “Have you looked at your deleted pictures?”

“Phichit! I told you that picture of Viktor was stupid, why did you go looking for it!?” Yuuri grabbed his phone back, starting to close out of the pictures before freezing.

There was not just one picture there. There were… probably nearly a hundred, of Yuuri and Yuri Plisetsky. Of Yuuri and Christophe Giacometti (on a stripper pole). Of Yuuri and Viktor, their arms around each other, constantly touching, pure happiness in both of their eyes. Yuuri felt his breath seize up, his hands shaking as he looked down at his phone.

“ _Holy shit_ ,” He whispered, clicking on all of the pictures to move them back to his regular camera roll, flipping through all of them with wide eyes before – “Phichit, is this a piece of paper?” He turned the picture to his friend, who squinted at it.

“There’s something written on it,” Phichit finally said. Yuuri turned the picture back to squint at it again before choking.

He could barely make out the text:

_Hey, Yuuri!! I couldn’t figure out your phone password :( But I still wanted to get you my number!! This is Viktor Nikiforov, and this is my number! Call me. I’d love to talk again!! <3_

The paper was covered in doodles of hearts and a little doodle of a poodle as well, and Yuuri’s heart was in his throat as he stared at the number on the paper. Viktor Nikiforov wanted him to call him. Viktor Nikiforov wanted him to call him and _drew hearts on the paper that said so._

Yuuri typed the number in to send a text before staring, because… It came up with the number for the unknown texter from after the banquet. Had… had he been the one that Viktor Nikiforov wanted to call after the banquet?

“Yuuri, you have to text him.” Phichit was looking over his shoulder, and Yuuri slowly moved again, spurring himself into action and typing out a message to the number.

 **to Unknown Number:** this may be a really random question, but are you viktor nikiforov?

 **from Unknown Number:** you got that much from a russian word? and i didn’t think you’d text back a wrong number, haha. um… i might regret saying this if you’re some stalker or something, but i am? :)

“Holy shit,” Yuuri whispered, staring at his phone, and then at Phichit, and then back at his phone, his hands shaking in terror. Was he…

“Ask him for proof!” Phichit shouted, suddenly much more in Yuuri’s space again, his eyes just as wide as Yuuri’s.

 **to Unknown Number:** you’re going to think i’m a total creep but… can you prove that?

 **from Unknown Number:** i could call you?

 **from Unknown Number:** but first i’d like to know who this is?

 **to Unknown Number:** katsuki yuuri.

Yuuri’s phone immediately began to ring, and he gasped, picking it up, stuttering out, “Hello?”

“Yuuri, it is you! Oh my god, Chris wrote your phone number on my arm, but he didn’t tell me what it was, and he was too drunk to remember what he’d written, and I was asleep, so I hadn’t seen it was Chris, and then you answered that I was a wrong number, but I thought I’d lost you already, but I wanted to check up on you and if you actually wanted me to – “

“Um – Viktor?” Yuuri had to cut off his ramblings before he had a heart attack. “I… don’t remember the banquet?”

“Oh.” Viktor was silent, and Yuuri’s heart stopped, because Viktor wouldn’t want him. Not him sober, at least, not him where he had any reservations, and any control over his life and any –  “Do you have the pictures? You demanded we take pictures, I didn’t know if any turned out,” Viktor said, much more calmly, and Yuuri swallowed.

“I deleted them all, but they’re in my recently deleted, I didn’t look at them, I just saw the picture of… The paper… The… your phone number,” Yuuri stumbled through the words, even though Viktor knew what he’d done.

“Oh! I… oh. I’m so sorry, then, you must think I’m crazy, I… Wow.” Viktor sounded incredibly awkward, and almost disappointed, and Yuuri’s heart hurt that he’d made him feel like this.

“No, no, it’s fine, you didn’t know, you didn’t push me or anything, I… It’s fine. Um. Why… did you give me your number?”

“I… I had a lot of fun with you at the banquet,” Viktor said vaguely, and Yuuri raised his eyebrows but nodded, shifting in his bed so he was leaning against Phichit, even though he couldn’t hear the phone call.

“Can you tell me about it? Just… so I have some idea?” Yuuri requested.

Viktor immediately dove into the story. He started by saying that he’d noticed through Yuuri’s skating that he must have been a fan, and had wanted to at least introduce himself, but Yuuri had done that for him. He made this make more sense by talking about how he’d not noticed Yuuri there until he challenged Yuri Plisetsky to a dance off, which he’d won. He’d gone on from there to dance with Viktor, and then with Chris (on a pole, as Yuuri had seen). Viktor talked about everything that happened that night in amazing detail, and Yuuri wished that he had any memory of it.

“Hey Yuuri?” Viktor murmured after he finished the story, sounding desperate.

“Yeah?” Yuuri still didn’t know why Viktor wanted to be his friend, but he’d give it a shot.

“Promise me that even if you don’t make it to Worlds, I can still come see you in Hasetsu?” Viktor Nikiforov was _begging_ him to be allowed to come to his family home, and Yuuri smiled to himself, looking down at his phone.

“Why not?” Yuuri laughed, and Viktor was awkwardly silent, so Yuuri must have misunderstood something.

“Yuuri…” Viktor was quiet again after he’d spoken. “Please don’t find this strange, but… your skating is hypnotizing, and the banquet was the most alive I’ve felt in so many years. Please, please, tell me you remember _anything_?” Viktor asked.

“I’m sorry,” Yuuri whispered, and he heard a choked off noise from Viktor.

“I… you asked me to coach you,” Viktor said, and Yuuri stayed silent. “And… I asked you… if… I… fuck, i shouldn’t ask, not if you don’t remember or anything, but…”

“No, Viktor, please… You can?” Yuuri said. “I mean, you can… tell me? And coach me. If you want to. But… tell me what you said?”

“When I walked you back up to your hotel room, I asked you if you’d like to try to date me,” Viktor said quickly, his accent just thick enough to nearly disguise his words.

“You – “ Yuuri’s brain had short-circuited. He opened his mouth, closed it, opened it again. “You want to date me?” Phichit, who had been dutifully silent this whole conversation, let out an ungodly screech, and he heard Viktor’s questioning noise through the phone. “That’s – uh – that’s Phichit Chulanont, he’s my roommate in Detroit, he’s also a skater, he’s hoping to make it to the Grand Prix next year and – “

“Put him on speaker!” Phichit stage-whispered, and Yuuri sat quietly for a moment.

“You can. We’ll talk after he gets his excitement out,” Viktor laughed, and Yuuri needed only that much encouragement to put the phone on speaker. “Hi, Phichit!” Viktor greeted happily.

“Viktor! You want to date Yuuri? Holy shit, wow, you wouldn’t believe how many posters he has of you, and he’s literally wearing – “ Yuuri threw his hand over Phichit’s mouth, his cheeks bright red, glaring at his friend.

“Wearing?” Viktor purred into the phone. “I’d love to know what Yuuri’s wearing.”

And Yuuri’s whole body felt flushed red, it probably would be _less_ embarrassing if he was naked. “It’s one of your t-shirts,” Yuuri muttered. “From a few years ago, I got it a few sizes too big to wear it to bed. The one right after you cut your hair.”

“Oh! You are a fan, that’s good,” Viktor laughed happily with his words, and Yuuri couldn’t believe he was just… cool with Yuuri being a creepy fan who wore a t-shirt with his face on it.

“Anyway, be nice to Yuuri or I’m gonna track you down to Russia and destroy you. Oh, oh, or I can demolish you at the Grand Prix next year!” Phichit smirked, and Yuuri glared at him. “Well, that’s me cue. Nice to meet you, Viktor! We’ll talk again later, I’ve gotta go to practice,” Phichit lied, rushing from the room.

Even though Yuuri knew he was just in the living area of the room, he took the phone off of speaker, fiddling with the edge of his shirt as he finally asked, “You want to be my boyfriend?”

“Yuuri, if you want to date me, I’d want nothing more out of my life. _Please_.” Viktor begged again, and Yuuri didn’t know what he’d done to make Viktor Nikiforov so desperate for him, but he smiled slowly to himself, nodding his head.

“I… Yeah. Okay,” Yuuri said, his cheeks flushed red when he heard Phichit whoop in the living room. He’d talk to him later, this was… unbelievable.

“I’ll see you at Worlds!” Viktor said excitedly, and Yuuri scrunched up his nose.

“I might not make it to Worlds,” He muttered, crossing his arms over his chest and staring at his posters, trying to figure out how _that man_ wanted to date him.

“You will.” Viktor sounded stern, and Yuuri smiled to himself that _Viktor Nikiforov_ had such trust in him.

“And if I don’t?” Yuuri repeated one more time, because after the mess of the Grand Prix Final, he didn’t know if he’d be able to make it.

“I’ll still see you there. I’ll get you a ticket if I have to. It’s late, I have to go. Goodbye, Yuuri! Thank you. Hopefully you remember the rest of our time together,” Viktor laughed, and Yuuri felt his heart go crazy. Again.

“I do too,” He said. “Bye, Viktor.”

He hung up, and set his phone background to a picture of himself and Viktor, arms around each other, ties around both of their heads.

In Russia, Viktor hung up and then immediately made another phone call. “Chris! How dare you not tell me that it was _Yuuri’s_ phone number on my arm? Did you know that he remembers _nothing?_ But he still agreed to date me. Chris, thank _god,_ can you imagine if he’d rejected me after all of that?” Viktor was nearly in tears.

“I thought you’d figure that out. Who did you think it was?” Chris sounded like he was laughing, and Viktor did _not_ appreciate that.

“You! It was your hand writing, maybe you got a new phone number, or something!” Viktor said grumpily.

“Why would I have written my new phone number on your arm? Didn’t you give Yuuri your phone number, anyway?” Chris asked.

“He _deleted all of his pictures_ ,” Viktor whined.

“Why?” Chris said, and Viktor blinked, because he hadn’t thought to ask that.

“I… Why didn’t you tell me?” Viktor repeated one more time, and Chris laughed.

“You’ve figured it out now,” Chris said, before Viktor heard Chris’s boyfriend stirring in the background, asking what was going on. Right. It was probably late for them, too. “I’ve gotta go, Masumi’s grumpy I got out of bed. Bye, love.” Chris hung up, and Viktor stared down at his phone, texting Yuuri.

 **to Yuuri <3: **by the way, why did you delete the pictures?

 **from Yuuri <3: **i thought you were going to bed.

 **from Yuuri:** and… um… i don’t know, i was drunk, but… i guess probably because i looked bad in them? they’re not really appealing pictures

 **to Yuuri <3:** that’s a lie. i will send you every picture i took that night to prove you wrong.

Viktor did. He did send Yuuri every single picture that he’d taken before passing out asleep.

He woke up to a new text from him.

 **from Yuuri <3: **i still don’t think i was particularly attractive that night but… we looked happy

 **to Yuuri <3: **i was. that’s the happiest i’ve ever been

A few months later, they met again at Worlds. Yuuri made the competition, and came in a honorable fourth, coming into the banquet much happier than when he’d come in for the Grand Prix.

As soon as he walked in, Viktor stalked right up to him, wrapped his arms around him, and kissed him directly on his lips before announcing, “I’m going to coach Yuuri next season! And he’s my boyfriend!”

They weren’t left alone for the rest of the night.

This time, they got drunk _together_.

It turned out, Viktor Nikiforov was _really bad_ at pole-dancing, but he tried pretty damn hard. And Yuuri realized he really loved him for it.

**Author's Note:**

> [here's ](https://yoyoplisetsky.tumblr.com/)my blog!! come follow me, if you want? i do prompts and stuff, but you can also just reblog stuff, or be my friend? i'd love to be friends <3
> 
> kudos/comments are always incredibly appreciated. <3 <3 :) thank you for always supporting me


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